The Mage's Sword
by ReptilesTheme
Summary: This is the backstory for Asala, written as part of a running story challenge I had with a friend. I posted it as is, as it is me creative liberties but mostly following canon characters. Mild violence and character death. Normal disclaimer applies
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I wrote this story as a story challenge I had with a friend of mine. There might be some small discrepancies from the game but I think they would be minor. One of the restrictions of the story was that I could only hint who the story was being told to, so if you are wondering who the mage is – it is Irving. I did not stick much to Sten's personality as it is in the game as this plays out long before he came to Ferelden. I would think he was a different, less sullen man back then.

Chapter 1

The raven above me circles high, its silhouette burnt into the bright canvas of the open skies. I blink, ignoring the sting from the blood that is running from the cut in my head into my eyes. The pain in my side is excruciating, a fiery wound caused by a Hurlock emissary flinging fireballs across the battle field.

I can turn my head just enough to see the mage on my left. Her black hair is matted with blood, and her staring eyes tell me that she has already passed over into the Fade, never to return. If this was any other mage, I would have asked Andraste to guide her path to the Maker, but this is Morrigan and I don't know the words to the Chant. Neither of us believed in the Maker anyways. The lyrium markings on her palms glow dimly even in the bright sunlight, but the glow is harmless – the power required to wield it cut off by a dark spawn greatsword buried deep in her chest. The persistent sarcastic arch of her brow is relaxed, and in death she is no longer the daughter of the Witch of the Wilds, only another fallen mage and another casualty in this Blight.

She is laying half under the King. I cannot see his face, but from the amount of dried blood that is spilled over the mage onto the grass, I can tell that he, too, is no longer alive. The chain holding his mother's amulet has broken and the pendant shines in the harsh sunlight. The hilt of the greatsword is barely visible between his shoulder blades, the sharpened blade binding him forever to the mage below him. The irony of the king dying to protect his greatest source of chagrin does not escape me.

It is quiet around me, the gut-wrenching sounds of the battlefield replaced by the reproachful silence of death. There is a foul stench in the air, of blood and dark spawn and fear and sweat. It is an eerie silence but I know that it will not last, and that the victors would soon arrive to claim the spoils of war.

I cough, tasting more blood in my mouth. Its metallic taste is an accusation, a reprimand for surviving while the envoy I was entrusted with lies dead. I had failed, in my duty as Sten of the Beresaad and in my duty as friend to the Grey Wardens. The gates of the city did not withstand the power of the dark spawn horde. My body feels heavy, pinned down by the hulking form of a Bronto bleeding its putrid stench into the grass.

The smell of the Hurlock alerts me of his presence well before I can see him. He does not try to move undetected, but I cannot tell if he is on his own or with more of his kind. I can hear him closing in on me, and I lie still. If this is my time, it would not be at the hands of an untrained warmonger for the undead. That much I could still refuse, while I had the choice.

A boot crashes down inches away from my face, obliterating the King's pendant. A clawed hand grabs the hilt of the sword and with a powerful tug pulls it free from the humans it joins together, oblivious to the sickening sound of the blade being ripped from their flesh. Without cleaning it the Hurlock slides it into the sheath secured across his back. Kicking the king aside, he rips the magical amulet from the mage's neck and stuffs it into his pocket. The Hurlock spits at the corpses and bellows; his call answered by the far away cries of his fellow soldiers.

The Blight is over and the Arch demon had won.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

When I open my eyes again it is dark and I am covered in fur blankets. The pain in my side has lulled to a dull throbbing and the blood sticking to my skin seemed to have been wiped clean. I can hear the crackling sound of a burning fire and a wonderful smell of rabbit and potato stew hangs in the air. Had I believed in the Maker, I would have thought myself to have crossed the Fade, but this is not so and I move my arms in an attempt to feel at the bandage strapped across my stomach and side. I am hungry, and my need for food and drink almost outweighs my need for finding out exactly where I am. I try to sit up but a sharp pain pushes me back and I fall back against the make-shift pillow.

"You will want to take it slow, my friend."

A man appears in my view. He seems familiar and speaks to me as if he, too, has met me before. His Qunlat is hesitant and, after spending so much time away from my people, almost strange to my ear. He wears the robes of the Circle; similar to that of the other mage, Wynn, but the embroidery along the hem suggests a higher rank. His beard is thick but trimmed neatly, and he seems out of place in the dark, dank cave I seem to find myself in. The man has a bowl in his hand, which seemed to be the source of the fragrant aroma. He notices me staring at it.

"Do you feel strong enough to eat by yourself?"

I nod my head, and he hands me the bowl. I try to take it in a controlled manner, careful not to gulp its contents down like a dwarf in a tavern on a hot summer's day. The man turns away to add more wood to the fire. He mumbles a few words and a flash of green sparks springs forth from the flickering flames. He is a mage. It is then that I recognize him from a time no less than a year ago, yet it feels like ages back. His face, though older is as kind as I remember it, and I know that for the time being I am safe.

"So we don't die of smoke suffocation." He explains gesturing towards the fire. "I had to seal the cave entrance. No point in surviving the blight only to be felled by strays of dark spawn."

He walks over to me and takes the empty bowl from my hands. He passes me a cup of water and I drink slowly, savoring the feel of the liquid on my dry tongue.

"You will have to excuse me; my Qunlat is limited at best.

"I speak the common tongue." I say, surprised at the huskiness of my voice.

"I suspected as much, but you did not speak when I saw you last, so I could not be sure."

He motioned towards the furs.

I would like to take a look at your injury again."

I nod.

"The blight is not over?" I ask between more sips of water.

"No. At least….we don't think so. The arch demon appeared to have been a decoy of some kind." He pulls the last of the bandages off and I groan when the cloth pulls loose from where it has stuck to the dried blood.

"The mage, Morrigan, she has passed. I have seen this. Along with your king. The gates would not hold. We could not hold the dark spawn back."

The mage nods gravely.

"Yes, you are right. King Alistair and Morrigan have died in battle."

The mage ghosts his hands over my wound, before soaking a wet cloth in water. It smells of herbs and I assume it to be medicinal of some kind. When he dabs the wet cloth against the wound, I draw my breath in sharply, but say nothing.

"The Warden?" I ask.

The mage continued his ministrations and looked up at me.

"Your warden is missing. So is the rogue." His tone is grave, and I sense a concern that the mage is not yet ready to speak out loud. With the King's death, there are only one Grey Warden left. If that Warden dies, there will be no one left that can stop the Blight. Not in Ferelden at least. The mage leaves my side, only to return a few minutes later with clean bandages and a fresh health poultice.

"It is only a poultice, not magical. I am familiar with the Qunari's….hesitance towards the arcane, and have not used magic in your healings." The mage places the poultice on the table. "You speak the common tongue though. I do not imagine you to be just any average Qunari."

"How long…." I start but my question is cut off by the searing pain from the mage's poultice.

"About three days. When I found you, you were barely breathing. At the same time another horde of dark spawn approached. It is a blessing that this cave was so close. How you ended up so far from the gates is a mystery to me."

"Asala?" I am almost afraid to utter the name. The mage looks at me questioningly.

"My sword…"

He points towards the back of the cave.

"I have cleaned it for you. It is slightly damaged and will require some smithing. When I found you, you were lying on top of it. Just as well or it would have been in the deep roads by now. When the time comes I would like to talk about how a Qunari warrior happens to be in possession of a lyrium-infused greatsword...but that is for another time. For now you need to rest. I need to go out and look for food and try to get in touch with my Circle. I will not be long, and the cave will stay sealed. You are safe here." He steps back from my make shift cot, enveloped in a soft amber glow, and when the light fades he too is gone.

I lie back onto the pillow to digest the information he has given me, the sting of the poultice fading into a warm, lulling sensation. I drift off, and fall asleep with the warmth of the fire on my face.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I met Adaar at the Festival of the Vitaar, a prestigious occasion when the Tamassran assigns a Qunari in their sixteenth year their role in the society and the one day the entire Seheron comes to a standstill. Festivities often last for days, more so when the Maraas-Lok is flowing. It is the only event where the Qunari celebrates freely and often executions are needed to restore order to the village. This official introduction is merely a formality. My training with the military has started in my fourth year of life and today I will join the Antaam, as part of the Beresaad infantry as vanguard of my people, scouting the lands for answers the Arishok might seek. Once the vitaar is painted on my skin, it will harden. I will be a subjected to the rule of the Arishok and serve my people in battle. This is the fate that was decided for me years before by the Tamassran, moments after my birth. There are over three hundred of us being inducted today and the excitement and anxiety in the air is palpable.

There is music and dancing, a rare occurrence to be seen among our people and we watch from our assigned spot in the arena as the festivities grow. The tables are groaning under the weight of the feast laid upon them of fruit, meat and freshly baked breads. As ordered, we remain in our place, watching the festivities with a detached yet interested eye. Unassigned Qunari children are forbidden to attend the festival. The Arishok, leader of the army, the Arigena, leader of the craftsmen and Ariqun, leader of the priests, have already taken their respective places on the three thrones, ready to welcome the new inductees to their new clans.

"Where is the cake? I was told there would be cake. The cake is clearly a lie."

I turn my head towards the voice. It is a girl, taller than most of the Qunari girls, yet still several inches shorter than me. Her frame is muscular and lithe and her apparel showed her to be one of the fifty chosen craftsmen – lead by the Arigena. Her horns protruded in a spiral fashion from her head. She senses my confusion, as she turns a pair of bright yellow eyes towards me before continuing.

"Cake is a human thing. Round things, or square….It is baked, like bread, but sweet and crumbly. There is no word for it in the Qunari tongue. Heavens forbid we should have food that we actually may enjoy without a prescriptive verse from the Qun."

Unsure of how to respond to her knowledge of humans or this cake she speaks of, I choose to remain silent. Our study of humans is limited at best and does not involve their dietary requirements.

"Humans choose their roles, you know." she continues. "They can choose to be a warrior. Or a craftsmen, or a priest. Can you imagine that? Choosing your own fate. The old gods would surely smite us." The girl shakes her head as she laughs and does not try to hide the slight mocking tone from it. "I can imagine the Arigena's face if I tell her I choose to be a warrior rather than a craftsmen. That would be a sight to behold."

I smile despite myself. The girl laughed at me.

"By the horns of my ancestors….did a warrior boy just SMILE at me? I don't think I have ever seen a soldier smile! Can you do that again? You know…for research purposes."

I laugh out loud and shake my head. The girl laughs back and me and takes a deep bow.

"I am Adaar, craftswoman for the Arigena and seeker of knowledge I have no business seeking or knowing."

"Sten, of the Beresaad."

The girl laughed again. She is pretty, with an angular face and striking yellow eyes.

"Of course you are. Talented vanguard and warrior of the Qunari Antaam! Sten is not your real name, of course, merely your class one day far in the future…but I shall call you Sten."

I open my mouth to respond but am interrupted by the loud trumpeting of horns announcing the start of the ceremony. The leader of craftsmen, the Arigena, rises from her throne, and motions for the girls' group to move forward.

"Panahedan, Sten of the Beresaad." Adaar laughs and winks. "We shall surely meet again."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I wake with a start, my body dripping with cold sweat and Adaar's laugh still ringing in my ears. I had, for the first time in my life, woken from a dream.

"It is the lyrium." The mage walks over from where he was sitting on a rock, reading scrolls. "Your sword is infused with lyrium. Some of it must have seeped into your wounds when the sword was damaged. Lyrium allows you to enter the Fade - to dream."

"A Qunari does not dream." I wince at the burning pain that have returned to wound in my side. The mage notices and immediately starts to mix a paste, no doubt to clean the wound again.

"You are right, but the Qunari also shun anything magical, such as lyrium. Lyrium has been used across all races to enter the Fade and it goes to say that even Qunari will dream if lyrium is ingested. I believe the Qunari have a similar substance called Qamek."

I shake my head. "It is not the same; Qamek does not make the Qunari dream."

The mage does not argue and continues mashing the elfroot for the salve he is preparing.

"You have sent the Warden to the Fade once. When we visited your tower the first time to sort out the blood mage problem. "

"That I did." He looks at me. "What do you know about the Fade?"

"Only what the Warden has told me. It is not much."

The mage nods. "Every living being in Thedas enters the fade when their spirit leaves their body, be it from dreaming or death and mages tap into it when casting spells. Most people do not remember their time in the Fade, except perhaps the Grey Wardens and mages who consciously enter it. Its appearance is shaped according to the dreams. Nightmares are shaped by demons just as regular dreaming involves a spirit of some kind. Often locations, objects, people or even entire events are recreated, to confuse or aid the dreamer. It is not unknown for a Fade dream to result in the physical death of the one that has entered the realm."

The mage spreads the paste onto my wound and I groan, the stinging sensation almost too much to bear.

"My guess is you have met with a spirit. You have mentioned the name "Adaar". It is a Qunari?"

I nod, but say nothing.

"You must talk to her, Sten. She has sought you out. Sometimes a voice from the past holds the key to our future."

The mage did not know it was a past I would rather forget.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

I crawl through the underbrush of the rainforest, taking care not to startle the Qalaba feasting on the forest leaves several feet ahead of me. It is not the infantry's duty to heard stray animals, but it has been 2 years since my induction with the Beresaad and I wanted the opportunity to hone my tracking skills. I did not expect this to be a challenge; the Qalaba is a stupid animal and I am surprised the Athlok has allowed the animal to venture this far. It is standing by the edge of a forest pool and has not yet sensed my presence.

I slowly uncoil the rope from my waist, and tie the loop to snare the animal with. If it has been hurt during its venture in the forest, I will have to kill it. I am ready to swing the rope, when a sudden force field erupts out of nowhere, sending me flying backwards into the brush and sparks are raining on me in a colourful array of greens and purples. I get up, blinking to rid my vision of the white dots caused by the explosion. My ears are ringing.

"Vashedan!" a familiar voice sounded. I recognize her instantly; it was Adaar, the girl from the festival, kicking at what remained of the exploded Qalaba. We have not spoken again since that day, but I have seen her around the village and she never fails to acknowledge my presence when she sees me, if only with a nod of her head. I have caught her sticking out her tongue to me. She does not notice me when I draw my sword and stand up from the brush I was blasted into.

"You are a Saarebas!"

Adaar turns around. If she is startled by my presence or the sword in my hand, she does not show it.

"And YOU are very observant, Sten of the Beresaad." she countered, looking back at the leftovers of the exploded Qalaba, gesturing wildly. "I was so sure this would work!"

"You must be assigned to a Karataam, Adaar."

This statement finally elicits a reaction from her and her yellow eyes narrow to slits as she lifts her chin stubbornly.

"Not unless you say anything, I won't."

"You expect me to be quiet about this?" I countered. "The Qun…."

"I know what the Qun says and I will not be collared and led around like a rabid Mabari!"

I do not know what this Mabari that she speaks of is and she sees the confusion on my face.

"It is a dog of some sort, bred by humans for warfare and companionship."

I shake my head. "I cannot ignore this, Adaar. You cannot act outside of the Qun. The Qun is what guides us and keep us functioning as a society. Nothing good can come from your magic, it is an abom….!"

"Spare me the sermon! Magic can be GOOD; it can BENEFIT the people of the Qun! Why can no one see this?!" Adaar's voice rises, but she refuses to back down.

"Magic is to be feared and discouraged! Not practiced on animals in the middle of the wilds! It is for this very reason that the Karataam was appointed! Unaccompanied mages are to be slain!"

"Then go ahead, Sten of the Beresaad!" Adaar shoves me and catches me off guard; I lose my balance and fall backwards into the grass again, dropping the iron sword I clutch in my hand. She grabs the sword and flings it at me, the sharp blade missing my head by a few inches. "Take your sword and rid me of my _curse_! Right here, right now!" She screams in fury, panting hard, her body language challenging me to do exactly what she says. Her eyes follow me as I get up, not flinching when I bring the sword up over my head.

"But know this, NO ONE knows of this power, and if you slay me I will die as a craftswoman and not a Saarebas. It would be seen as cold blooded murder of your own kind, an act almost unheard of, unless you are Tal-Vashoth. Any sign of my magica will disappear and you will have no proof that I was an unaccompanied mage, slain as prescribed by your Qun!"

What she says is true, and I halt, sword midway through the air. If I slay her, I will be executed as traitor to my kind, yet if I do nothing, I go against all I believe in, everything I was taught about the Qun and its governance of the Qunari. Either option will bring me to shame, there is no denying that. It is a thought almost too much to bear and I sink down to my knees in defeat, dropping the sword into the grass, panting hard from exertion.

Adaar drops down on her knees as well, taking both my hands in hers. I pull my hands away, not wanting to touch the source of her shame, but she tightens her grip, refusing to let go.

"I have never practiced my skills in the village or near another Qunari. I come out here to learn to control my power and hone my craft. Once a week. Come with me. YOU be my Arvaraad."

I turn my face away, unable to comprehend that she is asking me to keep her repulsive nature a secret. To AID her in it. She may as well have asked me to cut my own heart out. Yet I do not seem the have a choice in the matter. Her voice compels me to do her bidding, even though my heart is heavy with guilt and shame. She stands up and pulls me up by my hands before using a soft touch to turn my face towards hers.

"You are asking me to commit treason and dissidence."

"You are an honorable man, Sten." Adaar's voice had softened. "You follow the Qun, you are an asset to our people. Yet I ask this of you. Neither of us have much choice here. I will not let you down."

I shake my head and stand up from the ground, shaking my head and refusing to look at her. Her voice is pleading.

"I am not a danger to the Qunari, Sten. Not to you or anyone in Seheron. I do not need a Karataam to chain me up and handle me as if I am about to go on some murder spree."

I look pointedly at the smoking remains of the Qalaba.

"To be fooled by the world is unfortunate, Adaar. To be fooled by oneself…. is deadly."

I turn on my heel and walk away.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

I wake up, cold sweat streaming down my face and body. Adaar's voice echoes in my head as if I really had just spoken to her, and I can smell her above the dank moldiness of the cave.

"Your friend has visited you in the Fade again." The mage states, but he does not question me for details.

I describe the Fade dream in such detail it surprises me. I have not spoken of Adaar in many years, and the words tumble easily from my mouth. When I am done, the mage is so quiet that I suspect he has forgotten I had spoken.

"It is the Fade recreating these events for you, Sten. Why I do not know. Perhaps reflection of some sort?"

The mage dishes some fresh stew from the pot before taking a seat next to my bed.

"Did you do as she asked? Did you become her companion?"

"I went back the next week. And the week after that. Days became months, months became years. It was a dangerous situation and we took immense risks." My throat is dry and I drink thirstily from the cup of water the mage hands me. He sits back and strokes his beard, contemplating my last comment.

"And you were content with her practicing her magic….this 'Saarebas'? Despite what the Qun has taught you."

I had to think about this.

"I was never accepting of it but Adaar, she could make anything seem like it is the most natural thing in the world. Until then I had never met a Quanri like her. I was…enthralled by her sense of self. She refused to conform even in the face of certain death."

The mage is listening intentely and I carry on.

"The Tamassran teaches that people are not simple. They cannot be summarized for easy reference in the manner of "The elves are lithe pointy eared people who excel at poverty."

The mage's eyebrows shoot up, but he says nothing.

"The Qun teaches that the Qunari as a society is one - each part of a limb that makes up a body. Yet the Tamassran teaches us that we are complex, that there are many things that make up our nature. Until I met Adaar, did not understand how we can be one being but also individual at the same time. It was not my place to question this. I chose a path that day and I followed it."

The mage shakes his head. "An unusual path for a devout Qunari such as you."

I smile at this remark. "Maybe so, but this was many years ago, I was less devout. I thought I could handle it. Had I been wiser, I might have chosen differently. I might have slain her or reported her to the Arigena."

"But you did not."

I shake my head.

"No, I did not. I hesitated"


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Do you ever wonder what lies beyond the borders of Seheron?" Adaar stands by the edge of the cliff overlooking the vast forests of Seheron. It is green as far as the eye can see, and the glittering water of the forest swamps through the trees make it seem like the forest was built on a bed of stars.

It has been two years since our first meeting and I have honored her request to act as her Arvaraad. I am no more comfortable with it as the first time she requested it of me but it is too late to turn around now. What is done is done. She carries a sword with her, and the other Qunari believe that I teach her the art of battle to aid her in crafting the weapons she has come to be known for. I look forward to these meetings; after she is done we would often spend the hours talking about everything that we could possibly think of, yet other times the time was spent in a comfortable silence.

"Beyond?"

"Yes, beyond Seheron. Ferelden? Land of Templars and dark spawn. Are humans truly as dirty and conniving as the Tamassran teaches us? What does cake really taste like?"

"Still the cake thing? You have been pondering on that for four years, ever since I met you at the festival. Perhaps you should just bake this cake thing yourself and be done with it." I pull the loop of the rope through the metal jaws of the trap I am making, but the shards fall to the ground and the trap fails. "Vashedan! Perhaps you should look in those books for better plans for traps. These are useless." I kick the broken trap aside. "Your fascination with the common lands will get us both into hot water still, Adaar. It's just a matter of time before the Tasmassran finds your collection of books you buy off the merchants. Another transgression."

"You're preaching again, Sten."

I shake my head at her usual disdain for rules and regulations. "We have no business wanting to know the ways of the common lands."

"But surely this puzzles you too? A life beyond what we know?" She gestures wildly at the plains far below us.

I shake my head and laugh. "I am a simple creature, Adaar. I like swords, I follow orders. There is nothing else to it."

Adaar turns back and lies next to me on the grass, resting her head on her folded arms. "I don't believe for a second that you have n not wondered about these things yourself. You, my friend, have a keen mind and inside that keen mind you question things. You would fit as much with the Ashkaari as with the Antaam. Only the Ashkaari would require you to speak more than 10 words at a time, which might prove difficult."

Adaar enjoys teasing me about my quiet nature, but it is good natured and I let her. I would not admit this to her, but she is right. I have often wondered about the lives lived outside of Seheron, outside of the Qunari society and its people. Adaar has given me books to read on the subject, and for the most part life in the common lands seemed chaotic and uncoordinated. There was little structure, and societies seemed to function as separate entities rather as one – as the Qun does.

"Besides, what could that land possibly have that any of us would want?"

She turns her head and looks at me with a strange expression and it is several moments before she speaks again.

"The one thing I crave more than anything else, Sten. Freedom."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

I tell the mage this part of my dream at dinner the following evening. My wound is itchy and I am trying to keep my mind off it. The mage shakes his head when I tell of Adaar's desire for freedom.

"She would not have found that freedom in Ferelden. In fact, mages are more restricted and controlled here than anywhere else. Had she come to me, I would have accepted her with open arms."

I shake my head.

"She would not have joined your order. She believed the Templars to be a just another form of the Karataam."

"This is true, but she would have had more freedom than in Seheron." The mage nods. "I spent a small amount of time with a Tal Vashoth many years back. He taught me some Qunlat and explained how the Qun works. To those unfamiliar with your customs, the management of your mages seems….harsh."

"We do what needs to be done."

"It is not my place to question your ways, Sten."

The mage undoes my bandage again. "Your wound is healing nicely. It would seem the axe did not cut as deep as I initially thought, but there would still be a scar." He applies more salve and wraps the wound back up

"We often do strange things for those close to us." The mage continued. "We don't always need a reason."

I get up from the rock I was sitting on and stretch my legs, careful not to aggravate my wound. It has been more than a week since the battle and my wound is almost healed. It is still tender, but I can slowly move about the cave.

"I did have a reason."

"And that is?

"I loved her. From the moment I saw her"


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The note is pushed under the door of my quarters, and there is no indication on the front of who the sender might be. When I unfold it, I immediately recognize Adaar's hasty scrawl.

_Meet me at the cliff tonight at first moonlight. Make sure you come alone._

Slipping past the guards is difficult. They rush about in hushed tones and it is clear that something is happening, though I do not know what it is. Several times I nearly walk straight into one and I silently curse Adaar for the risks she makes me take. She is fast and light on her feet, whereas I am bulky and less agile….it is much harder for me to move about unnoticed. When I do reach the cliff, it is full moon but there is no sign of Adaar. I look carefully and my trained scout's eye notice a slight indentation in the bushes on the east side of the slope, the leaves pushed back as if something had moved past it recently. When I walk over, a hand shoots out from the shadows, pulling me out of sight. Instinctively I reach for my sword, but the familiar scent of sage and sandalwood hits my nose. It is Adaar.

"Not so out in the open."

"I came on my own. No one followed me" I frown. "What is going on?"

"The Ben-Hassrath is looking for me. They know I'm a Saarebas."

My heart leaps into my throat, and I can see that Adaar, too, is fearful.

"How do you know this?"

"They came to the shop and asked for me. Alikur naturally said nothing, because he knows nothing. They searched my quarters and found….contraband substances."

I close my eyes in disbelief at her recklessness. The day we have both dreaded, yet expected has come. We will both be executed by morning.

"What substances? Adaar, what did you do?"

"There was….an elven merchant. He was selling his goods on the merchant road. I…I…bought some supplies from him."

A terrible suspicion was tickling at the back of my head, but to give her the benefit of the doubt I asked the question I knew the answer to.

"And these ingredients are what the Ben-Hassrath found in your quarters?" My eyes willed her to look at me, but she turned her face away.

"Yes."

"Vashedan!" I shout, and grab her by the shoulders. "How could you be so careless?" I resist the urge to shake her and instead let her go so suddenly that she stumbles backwards.

"You have to listen to me, Sten. They have all the evidence they need. I have no idea how they found out in the first place. They know nothing of you, of this I am sure. If I stay I will be dead by morning. I must leave Seheron. Today still. I am going to Ferelden."

My head snap up. It is unheard of for a Qunari to wonder the common lands without a Beresaad escort. The Tamassran does not teach survival in the wild to craftsmen and priests and their knowledge of the outside world is limited to gossip and rumour passed down from the Beresaad. An untrained Qunari would not last a week, even less if that Qunari is hunted by her own kind for being an abomination to her people.

"Why not just submit to the Karataam? This could have been avoided if you…." I shake my head and turn away.

"Don't be naïve, Sten. I will be killed on sight if I set my foot in the village."

"And you think you will fare better in Ferelden? "

She turns back to face me.

"What will you have me do? Fall on my sword and make the ultimate sacrifice? Return to the village and beg for mercy? I have knowingly betrayed the trust of my people, Sten. I can expect a lot if things from being captured by them. Mercy is not one if those things. I have some knowledge of Ferelden. I will find my place there."

I look at her incredulously. "No one has a place there, Adaar! Your books have made this clear. Their farmers wish to be merchants. The merchants wish to be nobles and the nobles become warriors. No one is content to be who they are! If the land's own people cannot find peace, how can you ever hope to achieve this? I cannot allow this; let me talk to the Ben Hassrath and the Arigena."

She shakes her head at this. "I am not asking your permission, Sten. I've made my decision. Nothing you say can change my mind."

I turn away from her, refusing to accept the inevitable. I cannot trust my voice to be steady, so I say nothing.

"Before I go, there is something I must give you."

I hear a rustling noise as she disappears behind me. It is quiet for a minute or so before she returns.

"Sten, please turn around."

I turn around slowly. The object in her hands is huge and wrapped in smithing cloth, the kind used to transport newly forged weapons of silverite. I push the cloth aside and my breath catches in my throat.

It is a sword. Two handed, judging by its size, and an incredible work of craftsmanship, even to the untrained eye. The silverite hilt is engraved with the crest of the Arishok, with small leather inlays to steady the grip of the warrior wielding it. Eagle wings fanning out into the cross guard to embrace a blade unlike anything I have ever seen before. The blade is long and wide, slightly more so than normal, and vitaar is imbedded into the ore, twisting and curling along the razor sharp edges of the blade. The vitaar was an incredibly cunning touch, not only did it enhance the blade cosmetically, but made it poisonous to any non-Qunari unlucky enough to meet the sharp end of it. It shimmers as if it was forged on an anvil of diamonds and dipped in a cauldron of molten pearls, the colours changing in the flickering light of the moon and stars above us. It is magnificent.

Adaar gestured at me to take the weapon, and my hand wrapped around the hilt, the grip molding to it as if it is custom made. It was heavy and I could smell the slightly acrid, chemical odour of the vitaar burnt into the blade. Everything inside me has gone quiet, a silence I would not have achieved in a hundred years of solitude or a thousand years of meditation. In that moment it was only me and the sword, even Adaar's presence faded, her voice a faint hum in the background. In that very moment, I became one with the sword, and I knew that this weapon would be my heart, my soul, my everything. My Asala.

I looked up at Adaar. She was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"How did you explain your acquisition of the sword to the rest of your people?" The mage is cooking again, having just returned from the wilds with a few roots and a small deer to be prepared for dinner. I was chopping the roots with a shiv, trying not lose my patience with its bluntness. We have settled into a routine of sorts. During the day the mage would leave the cave in search of food, and when he returns I would turn tell my dreams of the previous night while we cook.

"I did not have to. It is not unheard of for a Qunari to venture to the merchant roads in search of…extraordinary things. Many Qunari have bonded with weapons bartered off a merchant. It would be seen as a great honour if your weapon was one confiscated from an enemy, but Seheron was peaceful that time, and such opportunities did not present itself as often as we would have liked."

"I thought Qunari did not trade with outsiders?" The mage tastes the broth, careful not to burn himself and nods in approval. He dishes a big portion into a bowl and hands it to me. He no longer wears his circle clothes, having exchanged it for robes I recognize from Tevinter mages I encountered. I have no idea where he got them.

"Not in the common lands." I say, taking a large sip of the broth. " Merchants from Par Vollen brought these items from the dreadnoughts that sail the 5 seas. They were acquired either by means of trade or combat."

"You add a lot of value to your weapons then?"

"The Qunari warrior uses only one weapon throughout his life. Once he has made his choice, he is bonded to it for life. If caught without it, he will be deemed honorless and executed. It can take many years for a warrior to decide on his weapon."

"So you did not know that the sword contained lyrium?"

"I did not know about lyrium. It is not a Qunari ingredient. I only learned of it later when I started travelling with the Warden. Even then I could not have known that Adaar forged the sword with lyrium. By the time I realized the sword had….magical ingredients, it was too late. It would have been impossible for me to dispose of it without causing an uproar. In any case, I did not want to dispose of it. I lost it once, and it was a terrible time in my life. It didn't seem to have any magical a capabilities."

"Until now, when it lets you enter the Fade".

"Yes. Until now."

"Surely someone must have seen Adaar forging the sword?"

I shake my head. "The village had two forges, one is in a dungeon. It would have been perfectly safe for her to create it at night without being noticed."

I place my empty bowl in a bucket of water and lie down on my bedroll, not wanting to discuss the matter any further. I did not tell him about the many nights I spent thinking of Adaar crafting Asala, her callused hands hammering and shaping the blade into the magnificent piece of weaponry it would become. I spent nights obsessing about how I could have handled things differently, wondering whether Adaar had made it to Ferelden, and if she had found the freedom she sought. I devoted myself to the Beresaad completely, yet her face and yellow stare was never far from my mind.

It would be another 6 years before I would see her again.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

In the first year following her departure, I expected the Arishok to summon me and question me about Adaar, our partnership being a well-known sighting throughout the village. The summons did not come that year or the next, and not for another three years after that. Eventually the whispers around the village died down, and Adaar became a ghost that no one remembered.

In my six year as Sten of the Beresaad, I am finally summoned to appear before the Triumvirate.

When I step into the massive assembly hall, I am surprised to find it empty. The Arishok stands with his back to me. I take even steps towards him, arranging my thoughts in order with each step I take. When I reach the steps leading up to the throne, I unsheathe Asala and lay it by my feet. The Qunari do not bow to their leader, but we lay down their weapon in submission. The Arishok's reputation for ruthlessness and cunning is legendary and I would be a fool not to weigh my words and actions carefully. He makes an impressive figure. His red armour is dented and the paint badly scratched in several places. This skin is scarred from battle, and he is known to be a fearsome warrior. His braids have been tied behind his head, accentuating the three horns protruding from either side of his head, twisting and curling towards the back and painted with the same red vitaar that was carefully applied in tribal lines across his body. If he hears me enter the assembly hall he does not show it and I wait in silence for him to speak.

"Your commander tells me you have proven to be quite the warrior and scout."

I remain silent, as expected. I am only to speak if asked a question, and so I wait to see where this will lead.

"Pity you could not show the same resolve rooting out Qunari mages as you do wayward Qalaba and Dathrasi's"

My skin turns to ice. I dare not look up at the Arishok, and keep my gaze trained on the floor.

"Of course I knew about your dalliance with the mage, Adaar. It was I that allowed for it to continue for as long as it did. My reasons for allowing that travesty is my own, but you have sworn an oath to the Antaam and to me – an oath that you have made a mockery of. I should have you executed for treason and dissidence!"

The Arishok has moved down the steps and his voice is a dangerous low whisper in my ear. He steps back and his voice rises as he speaks again.

"A Saarebas was spotted in the Kocari wilds, in Ferelden. She is hiding out there, accused of killing a nobleman by means of blood magic. She fits Adaar's description. Word is that she has been terrorizing the Brecilian Forest for years. So not only has the Qunari proved unable to manage a singular mage, but we are also being tied to malifecars. Adaar's actions have focused the attention of Ferelden on Seheron, and it is unwelcome attention. Fixing your mess is not the demand of the Qun, and you should be grateful! Find Adaar and kill her. Once I have proof of her death, I will assign you a Beresaad and you will serve the Qunari people and atone for your stupidity."

I make a slight bow and wordlessly turn around, my tread not revealing the terror I feel inside. When I reach the door he calls me back. I turn around, eyes still averted to the groud.

"Bring me her head on a pike. Anything less and it will be your corpse displayed at the entrance of Seheron."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"How long after the meeting with the Arishok did you leave for Ferelden?"

The mage is collecting his myriad of potions and poultices lying about the surface of the cave. If all goes well, we hope to leave this wretched place in day or two.

"Immediately. I only needed my sword nothing else."

"And how did you fare? Ferelden must have been overwhelming for a Qunari who had never left his own land.

I smile faintly. "It was indeed difficult. I trusted too much and not enough. I had enough sense to avoid big cities and large settlements. I traded what I could with merchants on the road. Information proved to be an expensive commodity. Only when I started travelling with the Warden many years later did I realise how dangerous my mission really was."

The mage shakes his head. "Is this how you found Adaar?"

"Yes. She was even more famous than the Arishok knew. Some likened her to Flemeth. Others believed she WAS Flemeth. I paid for information but it was riddled with hearsay and lore. I had to make do with what I was told, and eventually I reached the Kocari wilds."

The mage had stopped fiddling with his poultices, fascinated by my dream story.

"But the Kocari wild stretches for many miles, how would you have known how to find her?"

"I did not need to. She would find me. I was sure about that and I was right."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

I stand amongst the fallen rubble of an old ruin, overgrown with moss and alive with the whispers of a thousand generations. The breeze howls around the corners of the withered stone and afternoon sun shines brightly on the broken walls around me. It has taken me many weeks from Seheron to here where the merchants say Adaar was last seen.

"Breath-taking isn't it?"

The voice is older and slightly accented, but I would recognize it amongst a thousand others even after all these years. I do not turn around, but instead wait until she is standing next to me before I look at her. She looks exactly like she had that last night I saw her, but have traded in her blacksmith's attire for furs that I have seen the Dalish clan wear in Brecilian forest. A staff is strapped to her back, emanating the faint crackling sound of lightning energy and I can only wonder where she acquired such an object. She gestured at the walls around us.

"Ostagar - built during the Tevinter Rule as fortress to keep the Chasind away from the fertile lands to the North. It is abandoned now, but as impressive as ever."

There is a few minute of silence before she turns around to face me.

"I expected you sooner, Sten."

"You know why I am here then, Adaar."

She nods her head, her face expressionless.

She walks up to me, and the familiar scent of sandalwood and sage assaults my nostrils. She stands on her toes and presses cool lips against my cheek, lingering there for a few seconds. I have seen humans do this as a form of greeting, but it is an unknown custom to me and I do not respond. Too late I feel the slight pressure of her warm palm against my chest – a traditional Qunari gesture meant to ask for forgiveness. I have no time to draw my sword before the energy erupting from her hand on my chest sends me sprawling backwards, a white hot pain searing through my flesh. I cough, trying to find my breath but my wind has been knocked from me and I am left wheezing for air, mentally kicking myself for not having my guard up and allowing her so close to me. My skin is smouldering from the burn wound.

I struggle to my knees, but my limbs are numb and I cannot keep my balance long enough to stand upright. When her boot connects with my ribs I go down again, and this time I stay down. My face is buried in the wet dirt of the ruin and I can feel the slight pressure of Asala on my back. Adaar kneels with her knees on either side of me, crushing my numb arms to my sides as she pulls my head back by my horns, exposing my throat to the razor sharp dagger she pulls from her boot. A drop of blood squeezes out where the blade cuts my skin and her breath is warm in my ear.

"You are a fool, Sten. You follow the teachings of your Qun without fail or question and where has it brought you? Sprawled on the floor of a godforsaken ruin, at the mercy of the abomination you despise so much. I am curious to know what promise the Arishok made you in exchange for my head on a pike?"

I slam my head backwards, breaking her nose with a sickening cracking sound. She shrieks and falls backwards, dropping the dagger in the grass. I jump up and kick at it and pull my sword from its sheath on my back, and swing it in her direction, but she rolls out of the way. Blood is gushing from her nose but she wipes it away with the back of her hand before spitting more of it onto the grass. Her hands erupt with more lightning energy, but this time I am ready and I dodge the bolt, sending it straight into a pillar of the ruin, rubble and dust flying in all directions. I cough and my chest scream in agony from the dust and the burn wound caused by her first lightning bolt, but I stay alert, ready for her next move.

Her next onslaught is from behind, careless and uncoordinated. When she slams into me I pull her over my shoulder, the second dagger she has in her hand cutting a deep wound into my cheek.

"Stop this , Adaar!" I shout, but she is blind to anything else besides her need to kill me.

She scrambles to her feet and swing the dagger at me again. When the blade flies past my face I can smell the soldiers' bane poison on it. If I expected anything else but a bloodbath, I was very, very wrong. She swings at me again, but this time I grab her wrist and twist it behind her back, her bones crunching under the pressure. She screams again, but I ignore it. Instead I pull her towards me, grabbing at her long hair with the same hand holding her broken wrist being her back, wrenching her head back to force her to look at me. My face is inches from hers, muddy and bloody, both of us panting from exertion.

She smiles a bloody smile and any hope of her yielding in combat disappears. She is mocking me, even in the face of death.

"Do it, Sten of the Beresaad." She hisses through bloody teeth. When I do nothing, and say nothing, she screams it again, but I remain silent. Tears are streaming down her face and they mesmerize me. I have never seen another Qunari cry. I know what I must do, but I hesitate, just as I hesitated when I should have killed her that very first day on the cliff. Had I not hesitated that day, we would not be standing here now.

"I cannot do this, Adaar, do not ask this of me. Let me take you to the Arishok. Die with honour."

"Ashkost say hissra, Sten."

I feel the warm skin of her free hand close around my sword hand, and realise too late what she is about to do. When Asala's blade pierces her heart, she jerks and inhales sharply, but makes no sound. Immediately I feel the warmth of her blood spilling over both of us and she goes limp in my arms. She is too heavy to hold upright, and I sink down on my knees, cradling her close. Her breaths are shallow and raspy and a thin trail of blood seeps from the corner of her mouth, staining her teeth and lips further. Her hands grip my arms and she spends what little energy she has left to pull me closer. When she speaks I have to lean in to hear her whisper.

"Meravas, Kadan."

It is long past sunset when I finally lower her to the grass. Her cold body is limp and her yellow eyes are clouded over. I pull my hand free from where dried blood had glued it to hers on the hilt of Asala, and when I brush her face to close her eyes, it stains her skin.

It is only a week later when the Qunari ship sets sail for Seheron, that my words of so long ago come back to haunt me.

To be fooled by the world is unfortunate. By oneself, is deadly.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

"And did you take the Arishok's proof as requested?"

"I did."

"And the Arishok kept his end of the bargain?"

"He did."

"Do you regret what you have done?"

At this question I stay silent.

"How did it happen that you ended up in Ferelden again?"

Before I can answer a massive explosion rocks the cave, flying boulders and rocks ricocheting off the walls. The blast sends the mage and me flying backwards, debris and stones missing us by inches.

"By the tits of my ancestors!" A familiar voice rings out from the settling dust. "What in the blazes did you have holding this sodding cave together. Blood magic? Dworkin is going to have a fit if he sees how much of that lyrium sand I had to use to get your sodding asses out of here."

The mage is dusting off his robes but at the mention of blood magic he snaps up in indignation. The red headed dwarf marches up to the mage, oblivious to the offence he has caused.

"Name's Oghren. Warrior and companion to the Warden. If you've heard of me before, it's probably all been about how I piss ale and murder little boys who look at me wrong. And that's mostly true. You're that fancy mage from the Circle right? Whatsis name…" he catches sight of me and loses interest in the mage.

"As one of the blighters, I sodding salute you. The city has fallen but that there dragon wasn't the arch demon ya'll been yammering on about. We need to find the Warden and your little lady rogue friend. That pot-bellied son-of-a-whore Teagan said I can't kill dark spawn for shit. I aim to prove him wrong. Grab that sodding sword of yours and let's move. We can catch up on the road." He nods at the mage who has yet to find words to speak, before turning on his heel and walking out.

"I am almost too afraid to ask how he ended up with the Warden" the mage remarks.

"He means well, the Warden always says."

"Yes, well, I am sure he takes some getting used to. I am curious to know how he found us. It could not have been easy. No matter. The cave is destroyed and you have healed. Now is as good a time to leave as any."

It does not take us long to gather the things we wish to take with. The mage decides to only take his collection of leftover potions and poultices, carefully placing each into his bag of holding.

I lift my sword, the cool feel of the hilt as familiar to my skin as my heartbeat is to my soul. It slides easily into the sheath on my back and I stand up, steady on my feet.

I walk toward the hole blasted in the front of the cave, eager to leave the smell of mould and old fire behind. I can see from the rays of sunlight slicing through the choking fingers of the caves gloominess that the day outside is bright – as bright as the day I met Adaar in the forests of Seheron, and as bright as the day I killed her in the ruins of Ostagar.

My first step into the sunlight is steady and without pause.

This time I do not hesitate.


End file.
